Camila's POV
Morticia stood poised in front of the mirror touching her makeup like she owned the fucking world. Her slender fingers meticulously tracing the contours of her face as she applied a final layer of concealer.
That alone made my blood boil. A caustic sting spread as acid ate into my skin.
I shoved the restroom door open with such force it slammed against the wall, rattling the mirrors. The sharp echo bounced off the tiled walls, slicing through the air like a warning. Rage burned so violently inside me I was almost certain the room would go up in flames if I stayed another second.
Two women stood by the sinks, frozen in place.
"Get out."
My voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that carried death underneath it.
They didn't hesitate. Not a single second. They grabbed their bags and rushed out, heels slipping against the floor, the door shutting behind them with hurried panic.
Morticia didn't flinch, making her eyes narrow in annoyance.
She only smiled.
That slow, wicked curve of her lips—the same smile she used when she was about to ruin something precious. She glanced at me through the mirror, then deliberately looked away, reaching into her purse as if I were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
Mascara. Of course.
She twisted the tube open with infuriating patience and began brushing it onto her fake inexpensive lashes, ignoring my reflection, my presence, my fury.
That was new.
That indifference.
It made my skin crawl.
I stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind me, sealing us alone together.
"What the fuck almost happened between you and Ian ?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort to control it. "How did you even get in here? I know for a fact you weren't invited. I made sure of that. So why are you here, Morticia?"
She didn't answer.
Not immediately.
"I'm speaking to you bitch. Look at me," I said,my voice venomous.
She tilted her head slightly, inspecting her lashes with surgical precision, posture flawless, chin lifted. My words hung uselessly in the air between us.
Slowly—painfully slowly—she capped the mascara and placed it back into her purse. Then she reached for a lipstick. Deep red. The kind of red that suggested blood and sin and everything forbidden.
Only then did she finally look at me.
She patted her lips together, a sly smile spreading across her face. "My sweet and adorable big sister," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. But I corrected sharply before she could spin her web of deceit. "Half-sister, I presume? Let not get carried away." I said, my voice firm enough to slice through her games. She shrugged, a dismissive flick of her wrist, as she gazed back into the mirror and laughed under her breath, completely unbothered. "Whatever helps you sleep at night sweetheart, the same blood runs through our veins. Blood is blood, Camila. No matter how much you try to pretend otherwise," she murmured, turning back to the mirror, fussing with a strand of hair that didn't need fixing. Her eyes met mine in the reflection, a flash of challenge sparking in their depths.
Tonight, her presence felt like war.
Not chaos.
War.
"What do you want?" I asked, forcing my voice steady. "Why show up now? Why here of all places?"
She laughed then—actually laughed—and straightened, facing me fully.
"What I want?" she repeated slowly. "That's funny. You're the strategist, aren't you? The mastermind. Shouldn't you already know?"
Every word she spoke was calculated to provoke me. To remind me of who she was. Of what she was capable of.
I clenched my fists.
"If this is about money," I said carefully, choosing persuasion over violence for now, "say the word. A house. A car. Designer bags and shoes. I'll give you whatever you want. Just take it and disappear from my fucking life. For good."
Her eyes darkened.
"I want him."
The words hit me like a slap.
"I want your fiancé," she continued coldly. "And everything that belongs to you. Your perfect life. Your status. Your illusions."
For a split second, I saw something else in her eyes.
Pain. Deep .
Buried. Dangerous. A sting of tears prickled her eyes and she quickly blinked them back, preventing me from seeing her weakness.
But I didn't care.
I stepped closer. One heel at a time. Slow. Deliberate. My movements were elegant, controlled. Each step echoed in the room, syncing with the frantic pounding of her heart.
"You're delusional," I said softly. "If Ian is what you want, then you're wasting your time my darling sister. He will never be yours. Not while I'm alive or dead."
I reached out, slapping her cheek lightly—mockingly—before gripping her face, my nails digging into her skin.
"Maybe it's time you went back where you belong," I whispered into her ear. "Back to the psychiatric hospital. Back to people who understand your kind of insanity."
She shoved my hands away violently.
"And whose fault was that?" she snapped. "You think I forgot? The one who belongs in that hospital is you, Camila. And I promise—you'll get there. I never disappoint people I love."
That was it.
I grabbed her ponytail and slammed her face into the mirror.
Crack.
Glass fractured instantly. A thin cut opened on her cheek, blood sliding down like a warning. I twisted her arms behind her back, gripping tightly enough to make her cry out.
"I've killed before," I said calmly. "And I won't hesitate to do it again. Even if it's my own blood,I wouldn't think twice."
She trembled now. Fear replaced arrogance. "You're hurting me, you heartless creature," she said.
I released her roughly.
"Leave New York tonight," I ordered. "Disappear and never return. I don't want to see your ugly face ever again. The next time we cross paths, it will probably be hell and hell won't end with words."
She fixed her makeup quickly, masking her fear behind practiced poise.
As she reached the door, I stopped her.
"You didn't release that drowning video, did you?"
She smiled slowly. "If I had, it would've been much worse. Don't worry, sister. I have plans for your future. Big ones."
She left.
Victoria entered the washroom moments later, Morticia's departure still lingered in the air. I poised my lipstick, carefully painting my lips with a calculated precision. Tonight's performance wasn't just about the stage or the cameras; it was about maintaining the illusion. Victoria's voice cut through my thoughts, her words laced with a concern that seemed almost genuine. "So, this is where you've been hiding while I'm out running around like a madwoman? We have a lot to finalize for tonight, and I want you to meet someone. A friend."
I almost began to explain, but she cut me off, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "Who was she, Camila...the woman who just left? Do you know her?" Her face wore a mask of worry, but I wasn't buying it. All I cared about was maintaining the facade and keeping Morticia from unraveling the carefully constructed web of my life with Ian.
"She's no one to me," I said hastily, trying to brush off the question. But Victoria's gaze didn't waver. "I don't know her," I added, my voice firm but laced with a hint of defensiveness.
"Camila..." Victoria's voice trailed off, her tone dripping with skepticism. I knew I had to come clean, or risk losing her trust and potentially igniting a firestorm. "Fine, you want the truth, Vicky...she's my half-sister," I forced the words out, the term "sister" tasting bitter on my tongue.
Victoria's eyes widened, her hand flying to her lips as if she'd been slapped. "You...you have a sister, Camila? How?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Half-sister," I corrected, my tone clipped. "You never thought of telling us, telling me? How do you expect Ian to react to such a big lie? Does he know?"
I shook my head, my face falling into a mask of contrition. "Not until today."
Victoria's expression softened, and she reached out to me. "Don't worry, baby...I'll talk to Ian about this. What do you want me to tell him on your behalf?"
But before she could continue, she reminded me of the pressing matter at hand. "But first, we have unfinished business. Everyone is waiting for you outside."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Give me five minutes, Vicky. I'll be right back."
I dashed out of the washroom, leaving Victoria behind. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever as I frantically searched for Ian. "Ian, where are you?" I called out, my voice rising in desperation.
I spotted him talking to someone from afar, a woman's figure. My heart sank as I quickened my pace, but before I could reach him, she vanished into the crowd. Ian's eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something – guilt, perhaps? – but it was gone before I could grasp it.
"Who were you talking to?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Ian's smile was smooth, but his eyes betrayed him. "No one, just a business call," he said, sliding his phone into his pocket. I knew he was lying, and the distance between us seemed to grow.